From Friends Come Companions
by Auntieoaty
Summary: Sam experiences a life altering event and Foyle is there to help her face it.


**From Friends Come Companions**

Disclaimer: own nothing / claim nothing / profit nothing All errors are mine; no Beta

Spoilers: As always potentially any episode

Author's Note: I started this story thinking it would end on a romantic note – but, yet again, the characters took the story where they wanted and I merely recorded the events. However, for those of you who are romantic at heart it is easily open to interpretation.

Sam and Foyle remained friends. In fact he had become a real part of the family to all the Wainwrights. Adam and Sam had two children; a boy Iain Christopher named after Sam's dad and Foyle, and a girl Evelyn Frances named after Sam's mother and Adam's aunt. Most everyone called the children Iain Christopher or just Iain and Evie. Iain Christopher had always had a great affinity for his 'Uncle Christopher'. However, when the boy was just shy of sixth birthday his Uncle Christopher took him fly fishing. The little guy was so impressed by the fishing adventure, from that day forward he insisted on being called _Christopher_. To show how serious he was in the request, he went so far as to refuse to respond when called Iain or Iain Christopher. It wasn't long before everyone adjusted to calling him Christopher. Even his grandfather Iain thought it was 'quite clever' of the boy to know what he wanted.

Christopher and Evie were almost 7 and 3 years old respectively when Adam died. He had contracted influenza and succumbed to the illness with a matter of a few weeks. Foyle was there with Sam through it all. The situation so similar to his when Rosalind had become ill and died; leaving him with his grief and the sole care and support to their bewildered and heartbroken son.

Sam struggled to adjust to single parenthood in London. She decided she would take her children out of the city for good, but could not bring herself to consider her parents or uncle's; as her intent was a permanent change and those would, at best, be fleetingly temporary. Foyle offered her his house in Hastings. He had kept it; sometimes he thought, because he would always have somewhere to go when his current job didn't work out. MI5 was never a place he expected to be for long and was continually surprised year after year when he found he was still there. Over the years Foyle, Andrew, Sam, and family had all used the house for weekends away from London; sometimes longer holidays away from the bustling, at times oppressive, city. Sam considered the offer but hesitated in accepting; she really wanted to seek a permanent place. Foyle explained his understanding of her need for a change, but reminded her that the children would be much aided by familiar surroundings.

He finally, left her to ponder his question, "If not at home in London, where else are Christopher and Evie the most 'at home'?"

It was not long before Sam realized the answer was Foyle's home in Hastings. With the decision finally made, she and Foyle packed up the children and moved them to Hastings. Foyle stayed for the first few days to help get everything settled around the house. He left her with his promise to return on weekends; at least for a while, and a reminder that he is only a phone call away and can return to Hastings in a few hours' time if ever needed.

For the next several months Sam and Foyle talked on the phone regularly during the week and he visited, as he said he would, on the weekends. Foyle made a practice of watching the children and leaving Sam some time to herself, each weekend the first two months. He was always careful to tell her how long he planned to have the children out of the house. The period of time following Rosalind's death stirred in his memory often and he tried to help Sam through her grief. One thing he remembered clearly was not wanting his son to see him cry, for fear it would cause his son more pain. So, Foyle saw to it Sam had time alone, whether to grieve, rest, or do anything else she needed. A few months into their new routine Foyle enlisted the help of a couple of old friends to watch the children for a while each weekend so he could take Sam to lunch, dinner, or just some time out and away; but, not alone.

As the anniversary of Adam's death approached, Foyle went to Hastings for a week. He thought Sam may wish to visit Adam's grave. If so, the trip to London would be easier if he accompanied her and they traveled with the children by car.

On Monday afternoon, they left the children to play at a neighbor's and took a walk down near the shore. They talked about many things during their walk. As they reached a bench on the far end of the sea front, their conversation turned to the loss of their spouses.

They settled on the bench and Foyle shared a thought that had been ruminating in his mind for some time, "From the day I met her, to the day Rosalind died, was 13 years. She's been gone 23 years now. Seems wrong and out of balance that my time with her was shorter than my time since her. In a rather strange way the time, since she died, seems so much shorter."

Sam didn't quite know what to make of his statement. She was sure he had meant it to be encouraging, or at the very least comforting, but it was so terribly sad to think his grief over the loss of his wife, so long ago, seemed to him to yet be so recent. All she could do was nod slightly as she thought about what he had said.

They sat together in a long period of companionable silence.

The fact was, that was not what Foyle had meant; but, the discovery of that point was not made until the end of the week. Over the course of the next several days Sam replayed Foyle's statement, about the time frames of being with and without Rosalind, many times. She began to feel very ashamed; felt she had not done right by her friend in failing to respond to his revealing admission in any way beyond her contemplative silence.

The night before their trip to London, to take the children and place a wreath on Adam's grave, the four sat at the kitchen table in Hastings having supper. Once supper was finished, Sam took Evie up for her bath and the two Christophers cleaned the crockery and tidied the kitchen. With that chore complete, they too headed upstairs; the younger to his bath, the elder to read a story to Evie as she was bedded down for the night.

The children shared Andrew's old room whenever Foyle visited. He slept in the spare room downstairs, off the kitchen, which his namesake usually occupied. This left Sam his old room for her constant use. It had been quite the debate when he had first brought the three down to move in. As Foyle climbed the stairs behind Sam's son he smiled to himself, remembering how he had settled the debate with Sam by insisting he had grown to dislike frequent stair climbing. That argument had served well until he later proved himself, in Sam's soft, humor tinged voice, 'a terrible liar' when he easily traversed the stairs multiple times daily on his visits. By that time he simply told her the children had gotten used to things as they were and therefore Sam must continue to use his old room. So, she did.

Evie had drifted to sleep in his arms as the boy came in and claimed his temporary bed. Holding the sleeping child and maintaining the same tone and volume he had read to her with; he continued his storytelling of the previous night, until he noticed young Christopher drifting off. Easing Evie off his chest and under her covers he whispered, the same promise, from the night before, to the dozing boy who was attempting to fight sleep, "You get your sleep in, don't want you to miss anything, so I'll save telling you any more until tomorrow." With a soft kiss to the girl's head and a gentle ruffle of the boy's hair he quietly slipped from the room.

When he returned down stairs, Foyle was unable to locate Sam. Aside from the bedside lamp in the spare room being on, casting a hint of illumination past the partially opened door into the kitchen and a faint glow into the adjoining dining room; the whole of the lower floor was dark. He wove his way through to the backdoor, opened it and looked out to see if Sam was sitting in the cool of the evening, under the moonlit night; as she was wont to do. Still not finding her, the thought passed his mind that, although out of character for her to do so without bidding him a goodnight, she may have gone to bed while he was in with the children. Although he was personally disappointed in not having that last brief moment with her, he understood all too well the emotion imbalance she had been experiencing lately. It would not have surprised him to find she simply slipped off unimpeded to be alone or seek an early sleep. After all, the next day promised to be a long and emotionally trying day.

He lingered in his musings, for a few minutes on the back step, until the cool evening air began to chill him through his light jumper and shirt. Foyle idly wondered if he had seen either the bathroom or Sam's room door closed when he had withdrawn from the upstairs landing. It was possible, his mind insisted, that the bathroom door had been closed. He stepped into the house and then closed and latched the backdoor for the night. With the fleeting thought that he may yet get to wish Sam a goodnight, he decided to venture up the stairs a little way to see if her door was in fact closed.

As he moved through the dining area he thought he detected a sound in the darkened sitting room. Altering direction he veered toward the door and listened for sound in the room. Foyle heard what was either a sigh or a sniffle.

Carefully opening the door, so as not to startle her, he leaned against the doorframe and asked in a near whisper, "Sam. You in here?"

"Yeah." Her voice no louder than his.

"What are you doing in the dark?"

"Thinking." The answer was given as though it were obvious but without a harsh or critical tone.

"Ah." Foyle held his spot, wondering whether he should leave her alone with her thoughts or offer to keep her company.

Just as he was about to bid her goodnight and remove himself he was struck with the memory of wanting someone to sit with him at times after Rosalind died. They needn't speak to him, just sit and keep him from feeling alone, while he was lost in thought.

Clearing his throat, he asked, "Mind if I join you? We don't have to talk. Just thought, I might sit with you awhile."

"Please." It was not pleading but the hope in the single word spurred him to immediate entry.

"Drink?" He asked as he cautiously inched his way into the dark room.

"Mmm." Was the reply. 'Yes' was the meaning he ascribed to the wordless sound.

Sam felt compelled to address her failure in offering support to Christopher when he had selflessly shared such a painful observation with her down on the shore.

As he sat down next to her and handed her her drink, she kept her eyes straight ahead and said, "Thank you. I'm sorry."

Foyle was completely perplexed, "Sorry? What could you possibly be 'sorry' for?"

Sam turned her face to him, "The other day when you told me how the years since Rosalind's death seem as though it were more recent. I didn't say anything. I didn't mean to be rude I just…"

Foyle interrupted her, "No Sam. No. That wasn't what I meant. And you certainly were not rude. You must know I understand. Not everything needs a comment. But, I must explain if that was what you thought I was saying."

She was suddenly embarrassed and looked away from him and whispered again, "I'm sorry."

"No need to be Sam. I should be the one to apologize."

She turned surprised eyes to him, "What for?"

"Not explaining myself better the other day. What I meant was, well actually it was, albeit in a bit of an unorthodox way, a compliment, to you. You made the years without Rosalind seem less daunting and empty. Having you around; working with you, becoming friends, and constantly being included in your life, made my life full and Rosalind's loss less central to my thinking."

"Wouldn't that have come with time, anyway?"

"Perhaps." He conceded and then added, "But, it hadn't much the first eight years. Seems to me a distinctive shift began to occur the day you first reported as my driver."

Her face held a wistful expression, "Thank you for that."

Foyle reached out and gently covered her hand with his, "No Sam. It's me thanking you."


End file.
